


The Hanging Tree

by Archaeops



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: AU, And kills some people, Cherik - Freeform, Erik is a baddy, In the Universe of The Hunger Games, M/M, The Hanging Tree, This is a little bit sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:45:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archaeops/pseuds/Archaeops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hanging Tree is a songfic, sort of, the song is taken from The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uKrCE1aYz7o it's a fan-sung song) and it's Charles and Erik in a similar Universe to that the Hunger Games is set in.<br/>I wrote this for LucentPetrichor's birthday back in February.<br/>Thank you so much again to OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles for being my utterly fantastic, patient and generally all round awesome beta reader, and for taking the time out to read all the stuff I send her. <3<br/>Disclaimer - I don't own the Hunger Games Universe, nor the beautiful people that are Charles and Erik. I wish I did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hanging Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LucentPetrichor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucentPetrichor/gifts).



The tree stood, dead as ever. Everything near it was cold and feeble, drained of life in the bleak winter dawn. From the branches hung two bodies, silhouettes framed by the glow of the arctic sun. Even by their shadows, though, the outline of their entwined hands burned against the ashen sky, and they would stay together until flesh turned to bone, bone turned to dust, dust turned to ashes, and ashes were absorbed by the very same tree they hung from.

*

_Are you, are you coming to the tree,_

Erik had thrown a small hard pebble at Charles’ window, making a pane-rattling bang ring through the otherwise silent street. It had been three days now, and Erik knew he was running out of time, time to spend with Charles, time before he was caught…

“Charles,” he hissed. He climbed up one of the trees adjacent to the side of Charles’ house, calloused fingers protecting him from the rough bark, easy footholds guiding him up. He banged on the window with his fist, hoping to achieve what the pebble hadn’t.

Charles frowned, sliding between unconsciousness and wakefulness. He turned, groaning, to the window where his best friend’s grin sparkled brighter than the full moon that hung low in the Persian sky.

“Erik…it’s” –

“Midnight, I know. But I have something I want to” – _have to_ _-_ “show you.” His voice rang softly through the badly fitted pane of glass in the grimy frame. Erik could taste the pleading tone that laced his words as they rolled off his tongue.

Charles groaned loudly as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Erik knew he’d won. Pushing open the sticky window, he crawled out carefully to sit beside Erik. It was fun sneaking out at night with Erik; but this was his third sleepless night in a row. Even so, Charles knew better than to ask why: He had never had a problem seeing the intent behind Erik’s green eyes, but now something made them appear as deep as the seas their colour matched. Something hidden. Misted.

Erik hopped down from the branches, knees bent to absorb the dull thud before he extended a hand to the gloved fingers that reached down. Charles grasped the rough fingers, feeling the spark of momentary gladness that he always felt for Erik, for his steadfast, _constant_ presence and support. He gripped Erik’s arm as he landed, squeezing it gently in thanks.

Together, they walked side by side in a backstreet. Erik was afraid he would be caught too soon. Charles thought it was because people would talk. They walked through the other side of the deserted town. The ‘better’ side, Charles noted as the streaky grunge stains slowly faded from the now double-sided windows; brickwork red contrasting the concrete grey he had grown used to; paving slabs smooth under his feet, relieving them of the broken cobbles they were normally subject to at the other end. The ‘Interesting’ end, as Erik liked to call it, but then again he had always been a man from the Seam.

Charles was a hybrid: half of the blonde haired, blue eyed capitol beauty his mother had been. Half of the strong jawed, raven haired man that had been his father. Charles hadn’t been able to keep their pretty house in this side of the town since his mother had left – run away, as the newspapers had said – and his father had died in the mining accident. He wasn’t ashamed to say he didn’t miss them, thinking about them less and less since the Seam boy Erik had taken him under his wing.

“What are we doing here?” Charles asked, looking at the man in the turtleneck as they strode down the empty backstreets that ran parallel to the boulevards. The boulevards that had Erik’s face pasted on every wall and lamppost.

“…Don’t you miss your old life?” Erik looked at him, curiously. Although they shared almost everything, Charles had never found the need to voice his opinion on the matter. Besides, he had figured that Erik would have realised by now.

“Not one bit.” He cocked his head to one side, smiling genuinely. His sleepy eyes reflected the moon, lining them with streaks of molten silver.

Erik chuckled slightly, grinning in return, his thin lips pulled back to reveal all his teeth in his full on, infamous shark grin. If Charles hadn’t already been used to it, he would probably have thought Erik was about to hunt him down and eat him.

The quiet laughter misted the air in front of him, as his breath condensed. He was suddenly aware of how cold it was, noting that in his hurry, Charles had neglected to grab his coat. He moved to shrug off his own, but Charles shook his head once.

“You’ll get cold,” Erik fussed and sighed, before shrugging it off one shoulder.  Holding it out, he tucked the smaller man under his arm, enveloping him in the material.

Pavement turned to grass as they neared the edge of their district.

Erik gestured with his slender hand towards the lonely silhouette on the hill, the moon a silver halo behind it. A decrepit, humanoid figure, old and sad: a tree, with gnarled fingers forever stretching towards something infinitely unreachable.

“It’s called ‘The Hanging Tree’”, the German explained to the wide eyed Charles.

“It’s…” Erik struggled to find the right word to describe the tree.

“…sad.” Charles said, simply. Erik turned to the smaller man, lost in the deep blue eyes that reflected the very word he had just said.

“Tell me something. Something that you’ve never told anybody.” Charles said softly, taking the hand that was pulled around his shoulder. They were standing on a grassy hill, side by side.  

Erik closed his eyes. There was one thing he had kept from Charles, one secret that he had never wanted to share. He knew it would happen one day, but he never thought he’d be the one to explain it. Now, he knew he would feel guilty if he didn’t. Even as they stood here in the peace, the tranquil, the city far below was chaos as the hunt for the wanted man continued. The hunt, unknown by Charles, for Erik. He breathed heavily through his nose.

_Where they strung up a man they say murdered three._

“I’m… I’m wanted. For killing three men. They’re coming now.” Charles’ bright blue eyes widened and -if possible- intensified, even as his brow furrowed.

“The first man. I pinned his hand to the table with a breadknife, first. Er war ein Schwein famer… A _pig farmer_ , Charles. He was disgusting. Fat, pink, just like the _things_ he farmed.” He couldn’t stop his voice from trembling, as he clenched his fist. The left one, with the tattooed numbers forever engraved under his skin. He stared up at the tree, his destiny. It would happen tomorrow, he knew.

“But he wasn’t the one I killed first. No, that was the tailor. A thin man, I had the barman shoot him in the head. Kept it brief, before shooting him, too. The pig farmer was last. I heard the thump as his head hit the table.” Erik kept his voice monotone, quiet, as he stared at the grass beneath his feet. Charles’ gloved hand, which was gently resting in Erik’s own, squeezed fiercely.

Somewhere in the distance, Erik heard the pounding of footsteps. It was too soon. Too soon. He slid his hand up Charles’ arm and to his shoulder, turning the shorter man to face him. Gently, he ran his finger tips over the pale white jaw, parting blood red lips with the end of his thumb. It was now or never, really. Taking a deep breath, he leaned in to kiss the surprised man, whilst burying his free hand into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He slipped it into Charles’ pocket.

“Thank you Charles, for everything,” Erik whispered.

Blue eyes met green as Erik pulled away. Erik said it again, bringing the naked tips of Charles’ fingers in their gloves to his lips, carving the syllables with his mouth as he kissed them.

Charles felt something aching in his chest – and released the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. It all made sense now, whatever ‘it’ was. It was as if he had known it all along and it had been staring him through sea green eyes.

“Erik, I”-

A shout cut him off, as a man pointed at him, racing towards him. Others quickly followed in quick succession: Policemen. Charles stared at him in surprise, stumbling backwards, tugging at Erik’s jumper. Erik curled his thin lips into a terrifyingly _knowing_ smile, but his eyes said something more. Something dangerous, something sad.

“Get away from him, he’s dangerous.” Guns trained on the German clicked as the safety was disengaged. “Erik Lehnsherr – you are hereby arrested for the murder of three innocent men.” One of the men put his hands on Charles’ shoulders; he resisted the urge to shrug them off. Erik looked at Charles. He was afraid. Afraid for him. And suddenly, Erik was afraid too. Then he remembered what he had done, and why, and the fear was gone, leaving just the hunger for justice riled in his stomach.

“No, NO, ERIK!” Charles yelled, before smothering the choking sob that caught in his throat, but the German was oblivious to Charles as he put his hands behind his head.

“Innocent?” He grinned, a danger-laced shark smile which didn’t reach his eyes. He turned to Charles, the smile dropping into one more sincere.

“Tell that to the Jews. To the ones who survived the gassings. The ones who survived the massacre. Then tell me who was innocent.” An underlying tremble was not in fear of the men taking him away, but of anger, Charles realised. The young man blinked iridescent tears away, allowing them to pour down his cheeks.  He let his mouth open slightly, incapable of speech, as the police men clicked handcuffs around Erik’s slender wrists.

Charles had never been a violent man, but when metal scraped metal, he flung himself at Erik, vowing to never let him go. The startled police men tried to pull him off, as he clawed and shrieked, but he never took his terrified eyes from Erik’s calm green ones. Erik raised his cuffed hands, gently touching Charles’ tear stained cheek. Calm. Erik moved his fingers down Charles’ chest, pressing his hand against it as if to reach through to his heart. Both men were trembling, trembling with the hopelessness of men who had been alone, until by some cruel or heavenly fate, they were bought together. Erik didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Charles whimpered as the calloused hand gently wiped away the steady flow of tears, stemming the stream as he squeezed his eyes, hard, before opening them to look pleadingly at Erik.

“N… n…no…” Was the last cowardly sound Charles uttered to Erik, before he was marched away by the escorting policemen.

Only one man remained after they had taken his Erik away. Charles had dropped to his knees, allowing the tears to reign free once more. Even now, on the hill under the moon, the man stayed, wondering if he should wait for the opportune moment to speak. Charles didn’t wait to see him go.

*

_Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met up at midnight by the hanging tree…_

Eventually the newborn sun kissed the horizon, and Charles was curled up under the tree. The man had long since gone, but returned as the last stars faded in the pale white sky. Charles looked at him properly, as he removed his hat. He was a mousy sort of man, with thin lips that quivered as he spoke, clearing his throat.

“Mr Lehnsherr… he’ll… he’s been trialled.” He glanced timidly at the small man, who stared without seeing, blue eyes shining wet against the dull green grass.

“He’s to be hanged, this afternoon. Here. Four, sharp.” The man gave a small nod, before sniffing and turning to head back down the hill.

“What’s your name.” Charles didn’t ask, he stated, monotonously.

“I uh… Hank.” The man took off his glasses, eyes flicking down.

Charles didn’t talk again; the man, Hank, took that as a cue to leave.

The hard grass was prickly under Charles’ grime-streaked cheek. The tears had long since run dry, leaving sticky tracks under his tired eyes. His stomach mewed weakly, begging to be fed as the sun shone higher in the sky. Torturously slow, Charles dragged himself to his feet, looking at the tree.

 _Here. Four, sharp._ The police man had said.

 _The hanging tree,_ Erik had said.

Now, Charles knew why.

Somehow, he found himself at the door of his home. His body screamed with fatigue, having spent the entire morning lying on cold grass, and all the warmth had seeped from his body. Feeling cold and clammy, Charles quickly scrubbed his face, looking at his watery blue eyes. He had always been complimented on those sapphire orbs, shining tropical seas of azure. Now, they were dull; _amazing really, h_ e thought _how things that happen in your life actually affect the way you look._ This morning, he may have been interested in the reasons behind such a phenomenon. Now, the only thing he saw once he shut his eyes from the world was the face of that man, his friend -the only person to mean something to him, other than family. He thought of the way he had taken Erik’s hand, a small gesture that felt right at the time. Erik’s lips on his. He thought about why it wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t wrong because he was a man.

No, it was right because it was _Erik._

His eyes remained closed until the sun peeked around his window, burning one side of his face, the other pressed against the wooden table he had fallen asleep on. His eyes jumped to the clock. 3:55.

And he was running.

He ran like he had never ran before, flying down the empty streets – void of people who had gathered on the hill. Gathered for the hanging.

As he neared the green, he shoved his way through the slow moving crowd.

_Are you, are you coming to the tree,_

He screamed, over and over again, at the figure by the tree. He could tell by the sure stance, the dipped head. It was Erik.

“CHARLES!” The figure raised its head, eyes crinkled at the corner.

“CHARLES YOU CAME!” He roared. He had been dragged back up the hill after a short trial, and was being held back by several men as he hunted for his friend, his lover, in the crowd. The outcome of the trial had, of course, been decided long before he had been caught. Guilty. And even as the judge said it, even though he knew this moment had been coming, he couldn’t help thinking of what he could have had with Charles. What they now would never have. The cry carried over the heads of the crowd, which were peering around, looking for this Charles.

He was still too far; he couldn’t see Erik over the sea of people.

“ERIK ERIK OF COURSE I BLOODY CAME ERIK” _just don’t stop talking. Don’t stop talking and it’ll all be fine. Just don’t stop –_ He stumbled on feet, pulling others down as he scrambled up the hill.

“RUN CHARLES” Erik shrieked. He was almost hysterical now, his wrists rubbed raw by the manacles that chained them together. Finally he saw them – the orbs of blue that caught his eyes with such intensity, bright now as the first day he saw them. He focused on them, those cerulean seas that glowed in the crowd, feeling the hood being drawn roughly over the top of his head. His eyes watered as he tried not to blink. The tears helped keep them open, but the people crowded over Charles and they merged together into one.

Charles was nearing the front of the crowd, not caring now as he tripped, stumbled, fell, scraped, screamed, cried. He was close now, close enough to see the blood tracking down Erik’s wrists, close enough to see the clean white body hugging prison vest. Clean because he would be the first, and the last to wear it: They didn’t remove the clothes of the corpses once they were done with them. He was close enough now to see those eyes again. Sparkling with life – terror, anger, fear possessed. And something else. He hoped it was love. He liked to believe it was love.

Erik blinked once, to remove the cruel tears that hid Charles from his view, but it was too late. The hood was down. He took a deep breath. He might be a dead man, but he still had one last breath.

“CHARLES” he snarled, feral.

_Where the dead man called out for his love to flee,_

_Strange things did happen here,_

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

“CHARLES, RUN. RUN GODDAMNIT, RUN.”

“I’M FUCKING RUNNING” The man screamed back, ignoring the gashes in his knees, ignoring the little shards of stone that dotted his hands. 

“RUN CHARLES RUN” The policemen had finally had enough, narrowing their eyes as they cocked their heads like crows. Charles eyes widened as they stared at him.

“RUN CHARLES THEY’RE GOING TO GET YOU” The few men that remained with the now still Erik, pushed him roughly onto a wooden block, looping the noose over the branch of the dead tree. The thick rope chafed his neck over the bag – but

“WHERE DO I RUN TO!?” Charles called out, throat sticky and dry from screaming, eyes aching from the effort of trying not to focus on anything other than Erik. He felt his feet stumble, unsure of their direction as he wondered what Erik wanted him to do, and what the policemen were going to do.

“RUN CHARLES, RUN… run… run with me.” Even as he said it, Erik felt the words catching on his tongue, stinging with selfishness. But he didn’t want it. He didn’t want to be alone anymore, not anymore. Not now. Not ever again.

“I’M RUNNING TO YOU. I’M” –

The block was kicked away with a hollow thud. The snap echoed across the silent district. A strangled howl.

The policemen didn’t chase him in the end. Broken was punishment enough.

*

Somehow, it was night again. Charles was lying under the feet of the lifeless corpse. Every so often, it would creak in the wind as rope rubbed wood. Charles wasn’t scared. Charles didn’t feel as he lay there, willing for the grass to pull him into the ground, grow around him as he refused to leave. He held himself together with his arms, shivering involuntarily against the biting cold. He found a note, in his pocket.

_Dear Charles,_

_I told you to run Charles, so run._

_Run for freedom._

_Run with me._

_Meet me at midnight tonight._

_Come to the tree._

_I have something for you._

_Love, Erik_

The note did nothing to lessen each painful throbbing of his heart. Erik was _gone._ He would never meet up with Charles again at midnight. He would never run as the wild lion he was. He would never be free from the constraints of the district they lived in.

But he was.

Charles was suddenly seeing again, after staring at the sky for hours watching the moonrise, but not seeing.

_I have something for you._

Charles carefully stood up, legs numb from lying in the same position for so long.

For the first time, he looked closely at the body swaying lightly in front of him, ready to resist the urge to vomit. It never came. Around Erik’s stomach, the white fabric stretched oddly. It wasn’t the smooth, lean muscles Charles expected, but even ribs of rope. Another noose. He ran his cold fingertips against the rough rope snake binding Erik’s torso in death’s embrace.

_Are you, are you_

_Coming to the tree,_

_Wear a necklace of rope side by side with me_

“ _Erik…”_ Charles felt the burn up his throat, and turned away, expecting to throw up. He didn’t. It was a different sort of burn – a burn of desire. Erik had made it too easy. _Run with me._

Taking Erik’s uncharacteristically cold hand, he pretended that the German was pulling him up onto the crate, as he scrambled to balance on it. He slung the thick rope over the branch, beside Erik. He bought it over his head and round his neck, like he would a necklace. _I’m running._

_Strange things did happen here  
No stranger would it be  
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

*

The last heavy chime that rang from the town below barely masked the crack that shattered the stillness of the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic! It was fun to write :)


End file.
